


The Taste of Two

by Hekate1308



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Cannibalism, Hannibal Lecter Crowley, M/M, Serial Killer Dean Winchester, Serial killer Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 21:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: When his thirst for blood had made itself known and Dean had realized he could no longer ignore it, he’d decided he would go after scumbags. Paedophiles, murderers who’d never been caught, that sort of thing.He was doing society a favour, but no, all the publicity had to go to the guy who left opera music to play at murder scenes and was good at carving.Serial Killer AU, Drowley.





	The Taste of Two

“Now, Mr, Crowley“ Naomi Tapping announced, “You have to tell me what’s in those wonderful canapés. Me and Rachel have been guessing all evening.”

“I’m so sorry” he replied with a winning smile, “but if I did, you wouldn’t like it anymore.”

She chuckled, taking another sip of her champagne. “Such a nice way to remember Judge Cohan by, this soiree.”

“I am glad you approve.”

“I am sure he would have, too; you knew him.”

Yes. And He had known him, to the very end. Crowley smiled.

As rude as the judge had often been – only once to Crowley though, which had been why he was no longer allowed to enjoy is retirement.

“Such a terrible end for a wonderful man” Naomi said now, looking down in her glass. “And the police still have no clue who did it.”

“On the contrary, they do know” he answered smoothly. “It was the Angel Maker, at least that’s what the newspapers say.”

She shook her head. “How they can call someone so disgusting an Angel Maker...”

Because he turned his victims into angels, pieces of art. Not that he could tell Mrs. Tapping that.

She would lose her appetite, and then where would they be? Plus, he didn’t have place in his fridge, the dearly departed judge had ensured that.

“You know the media, Mrs. Tapping. They will take anything just to have a headline.”

“I guess you are right.”

Crowley smiled and allowed himself another canapé.

For as stubborn a bastard as the judge had been, they tasted wonderful.

* * *

“What’s up with you?” Sam asked.

“Nothing, why?”

“You’ve been in a bad mood all week” his brother told him and Dean reminded himself that he couldn’t let his mask slip.

Sam must never find out about his little hobby.

“Just, you know... work.”

He’d been planning the judge’s abduction for weeks now. Weeks. And instead this pretentious asshole had swept in and “made him into an angel” or whatever the papers called it.

Dean hated the Angel Maker. From the name to the attitude to his high-profile victims.

When his thirst for blood had made itself known and Dean had realized he could no longer ignore it, he’d decided he would go after scumbags. Paedophiles, murderers who’d never been caught, that sort of thing.

He was doing society a favour, but no, all the publicity had to go to the guy who left opera music to play at murder scenes and was good at carving. That was it. Dean at least made the bastards he hunted suffer; this guy didn’t care, as long as he got his snack and the body looked artsy.

In the last week, Dean had killed two drug lords, but did anyone care? Oh no, everyone was screaming about the Angel Maker.

He didn’t even have a nickname. The press didn’t care.

He’d make them see.

It was time to look for a high-profile douche.

* * *

Crowley was usually more concerned with aesthetics when it came to choosing his victims, and it had only been a month since the judge. He could easily have waited a bit longer.

But the congressman who happened to run a paedophile ring was also incredibly impolite, and that had caught his attention during a fundraiser.

So, really, he was doing something good. He was a benevolent party for once. He could hardly pass the chance up.

Dick Roman would make a formidable victim.

Breaking into his apartment on the fourteenth floor of a well-secured building in upper Manhattan was only too easy. And Mr. Roman didn’t keep bodyguards during the weekend because of his extracurricular activities.

As he walked down the corridor to his door, Crowley smiled.

And then someone attacked him.

He knew immediately it wasn’t a body guard or other trained professionals; the movements didn’t fit. Even so, the man was strong, but nothing Crowley couldn’t handle, and soon he had him backed against the wall –

Only to be thrown down on the floor.

Interesting. No one had managed to put up such a fight in years.

They wrestled silently for several minutes, neither of them able to get the upper hand. Finally they were having a standoff when his attacker roughly asked, “Who are you? Not a fed, not military, I can tell.”

“I could say the same.” Crowley cocked his head to the side.

“I am the one who’s gonna make sure that scumbag doesn’t touch any more children.”

“I can only repeat my statement.”

He couldn’t be absolutely sure in the darkness, but he thought the man narrowed his eyes.

“Right. Because that just happens – two killers meeting because they are after the same target.”

“I prefer art pieces” Crowley replied smoothly, only to find himself pressed against the wall again, the man’s arm chocking him.

“You are the Angel Maker” he hissed. “You’re the one who gets all the attention because he’s extra.”

“Oh. I presume you’re the other serial killer, then? The one no one has even noticed stalks through the streets? I know your work; rather presumptuous to call me extra when you give yourself the semblance of a vigilante when really all you do is torture people to death.”

“They deserve to suffer.”

“Then what do you deserve?”

“Not to be ignored because of the likes of you, for one matter. That woman you killed six months ago – Meg Masters. She’d done nothing.”

“She bought a painting she perfectly knew I wanted to spite me.”

“She bought a painting” he mocked his accent. “Of course. But then, why are you here? I’m certain you can’t care less about what Dick roman has done.”

He was right, but Crowley was more preoccupied with wondering why being menaced by the unnamed killer was not nearly as unpleasant as it should have been.

“That’s true, but I can’t abide rude people.”

“You – “ Unexpectedly, he chuckled. It was a very nice sound.

His assailant stepped back. “You know what? You’re kind of entertaining, despite everything.”

Crowley stretched, stepping away from the wall. “I have never had a partner in crime before... want to try?” He wasn’t entirely sure why he was inviting him to join, but why not? A little variety couldn’t hurt.

“Hm... why not? Might as well see your skills everyone’s going crazy about in action...”

He was rather good at picking locks, and soon enough, they were standing over Dick Roman who was peacefully asleep with no idea what was about to happen to him.

Once they had him up, gagged, bound and afraid, they turned the light on.

Crowley had definitely not been prepared for this.

It was rather unfair; certainly someone with so little taste when it came to killing should not be so beautiful.

The Adonis in front of him looked surprised. “Fergus Crowley? The philanthropist?”

“I give back for what I take.”

“I guess. Name’s Dean” he replied, his gaze growing hungry.

How... interesting.

“Shall we?”

“Only if you’ll give me a hand” Dean said, pointing at Roman’s right one and grinning. “Since he felt kids up with that. Pervert.”

“Oh, I’ll save the best piece for you” Crowley promised.

Dean’s eyes sparkled.

Roman tried to make a noise. Dean moved but Crowley raised his hand.

“Let me. Hurting him would ruin the tableau.”

“Oh, will you teach me how to art?”

“Quid pro quo. You’ll have to show me how to make it last.”

“I can do that.”

And they did.

Dean looked even more mesmerizing with blood on his face.

“Well, if that isn’t the Mona Lisa of murders right there” Dean said, looking at their word two delicious hours later.

“And the night is still so young” he agreed. “How about we clean up and afterwards I show you how to cook in the most humane way possible?”

“I like the way you think. I’ve never tried it, but hey... this asshole definitely deserved to be devoured.”

“It’s not often I meet someone who has the same tastes I do... even if they are a little misguided.”

“Misguided, hm? I’ll show you misguided.”

And to his surprise – and delight, as he had to admit – Dean dragged him into a kiss. He tasted of blood and Crowley would have loved to continue, but sadly they couldn’t allow themselves to tarry too long at a crime scene.

They met again one hour later in Crowley’s apartment.

Dean had indeed cleaned up; he’d even put on a suit.

“Look at you; you’re not that bad when you’re not imitating some has-been rock star.”

“Not all of us have the money to buy expensive clothes only to throw them away after a good session” Dean replied.

It didn’t take long for them to start flirting again.

“Careful with the hand.”

“I’m always careful with my hands” Dean replied, raising his right only to trail it down Crowley’s tie.

“Some would say you’re playing with fire.”

“It’s a stove; no real danger there.”

In his eyes, there was both a challenge and something like a threat.

He was the most exhilarating thing Crowley had ever encountered.

* * *

Dean knew he probably shouldn’t have gone to Crowley’s apartment, despite the murder they had shared. And so far, the guy only knew his first name. It would have been easy to disappear of Crowley’s radar.

But something about the man just drew him in. Maybe the contrast of the wealthy philanthropist being a cold-blooded killer that was not at all unlike Dean’s own life as a devoted brother and perfect employer while enjoying a good murder now and then. Maybe it was the accent. Maybe it was the suit.

Whatever the reason, soon Dean found himself in the middle of a cooking lesson.

He’d never tried human meat before, but he had heard it tasted like chicken, plus he couldn’t deny that the idea of trying a victim of the Angel Maker himself was... exciting.

And it did, indeed, taste like chicken. Extremely well-prepared chicken though.

And of course Crowley happened to buy wine so expensive even Dean liked it.

He knew very well at the end of the meal that he had to make a decision.

Granted, it might not have been his best, but –

He kissed Crowley again.

“I must say” Crowley drawled Dean didn’t know how much later. “I didn’t expect that.”

He chuckled. “Me neither. Thanks for good old Dick Roman.”

“Indeed.”

Dean, despite having had many one night stands in the past, found himself reluctant to ho.

And Crowley didn’t want him to leave either apparently since he told him “You might as well stay.”

Well then.

* * *

 Somehow, Dean and Crowley kept contacting each other after that first night. After all, it wasn’t easy to find friends who shared one’s hobby when this hobby was a bit outside the norm.

And yes, they continued to have sex. Crowley would even go so far as to admit that he liked Dean, if only to himself.

They soon found that their philosophies didn’t have to contradict one another. Dean continued to kill “douche bags” as he put it, while he made sure to call Crowley whenever he found someone promising an aesthetic scene.

The police never figured out that the Angel Maker had found a partner.

* * *

“My, my” Naomi declared on another one of Crowley’s soirées, “I am almost jealous.”

“Of whom?” Dean asked.

“That is open for discussion, my dear.”

Dean grinned at his brother. “Hear that Sammy? I’m a catch.”

Sam had originally been surprised when he’d told him he was dating Fergus Crowley of all people – he’d been so kind as to come to Dean’s restoration shop one day so they could explain how they met – but seeing how satisfied they both were with the arrangement, he’d soon come to accept and even like him a little.

“Yeah, yeah, Dean. So why don’t you tell is what you and your boyfriend have prepared?”

“Not so quick. Master pieces take their time.”

He caught Crowley’s eyes and grinned.

There was every reason to think that the chateaubriand à la Arthur Ketch would win universal approval.

 


End file.
